


Henry GET BACK HERE

by orphan_account



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: //shrugs//, But you still have to tag it, First Fic!, Gen, Honestly Boris and Alice are mentioned like once, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Sorry, no editing we die like men, no i'm not, okay maybe a bit of editing, this is 100 percent self indulgent, this was fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2019-01-30 14:28:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12655353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: What was Bendy thinking at the end of Chapter 1?And who boarded up the Ink Machine? (spoilers: Bendy)





	Henry GET BACK HERE

**Author's Note:**

> first fic! I wanted to do something more angsty, but I figured this might be good as a warmup. I typed this out in about thirty minutes instead of sleeping like a normal person and I frankly regret nothing. I'm actually surprisingly proud of this haha. Although Archive writing HTML is hard to work with.  
> Also, I based the fact that "Bendy" senses when someone steps in ink from Ring Around The Bendy video on youtube. If you step in ink while tailing him (and it was like that big moat of ink near the wally tape) he instantly sees you.

The first thing he noticed was the light. The single light that hung, flickering weakly, above the black puddle he lay in.  
The second thing he noticed were the shadows that hung around him, clawing up the walls and splattered across the yellow-brown floorboards, like a child had a bucket of ink and went mad with it.  


Make that ten buckets.  


Some of it was even on the ceiling somehow, but the majority of the black ink was pooled around his body and flowing out through the doorway into the dust-laden doorway beyond.  


After that, the machine in the back of the room, where a continuous small stream of ink flowed and bubbled out of the nozzle. The exposed gears whirred smoothly even as the pipes clanked and creaked in annoyance after being neglected for over twenty years. And yet, the machine still seemed almost like a beating heart. The black pipes were like arteries and veins, the clanking machine (the Ink Machine, some vaguely detached part of him noted) the pulsing beat of this forgotten place and him.  


All of this was seen in less than a second.  


One second of bliss before the memories came flooding back. Of what had happened.  


Two seconds before his sight vanished as the _pain_ erased whatever semblance of a sane mind Bendy might have had and sent his half-formed torso and head splattering back into the puddle of ink.  


Three seconds before Bendy found his rage, against the creators. Against whoever had the bright idea to release him to this. This malformed body, the pain that came with existing in this twisted mockery of his cartoon self, the screaming voices that were tearing apart his mind from the inside out. The grief, the agony, the rage, the voices, his lack of sight-it was too much, make  
it  
stop

Then-  
**Protect the Machine.**  
One voice silenced the others, far more powerful than the variety of voices inside the ink.  
**He cannot find me.**  


Bendy, of course, obeyed. He didn't have a choice.

Down the hallway, Henry stepped in a puddle of ink, and Bendy instantly knew who had started the machine.  
Henry. The creator _-his creator-_ the liar. He’d promised to come back. Hadn’t he?  
He’d promised. But he never did.  


The rage that swirled inside him grew. It powered the pure burst of energy that helped him obey the voice, helped him tear up the boards of the walls and hammer them to the doorframe with the palm of his deformed, wrong, hand. Helped him push through the pain of existing in the real world and protect the heart.  


It powered his leap out of the ink and his maddened swipes at the Creator through a hole in the boards. The liar, the traitor, the one that had abandoned him-abandoned them all-to the animation studio-turned-hell. The one who had left them to the mercy of Joey Drew, and everyone knew he had no mercy. Not anymore. Not to Boris, not to Alice, and certainly not to him. He fell back, but he could still sense him as he sprinted desperately for the exit.  


He laughed from his ink puddle as the hallways began to flood with black shadows that gurgled and rippled with fragments of minds.  
The voice that had pushed him to protect the machine laughed with him, waiting for the floor to collapse.  


A small touch of cruelty, putting the trap so close to the door. You could almost taste the escape on the other side.  


Of course, Henry fell in. He couldn’t have known.  


And now the hell begins.


End file.
